


The Internship

by izzet



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Eric Bittle Lives in NYC, Falling In Love, First Dates, Fluff, Interns & Internships, Kent Parson Plays for the Rangers, Kit Purrson is the Real Hero, Light Angst, M/M, Moving On, Past Eric "Bitty" Bittle/Jack Zimmermann, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-09 16:05:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 18,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14719262
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/izzet/pseuds/izzet
Summary: Eric Bittle arrived in New York two weeks ago, newly single and ready for a fresh start.  This internship was just what he needed to jumpstart his life.Kent Parson loved his life in New York.  He was at the peak of his NHL career.  He had friends, the world's greatest cat, and everything he thought he needed.He never expected a small Southern blonde to burst into his life and turn everything on its head.





	1. Welcome to New York

**Author's Note:**

> Hi and thanks for reading! This story will be five chapters and is mostly written. I'm hoping to post a chapter every week.
> 
> If you like Bittyparse and Spotify, check out the playlist I've been jamming to while I write!  
> [Fierce BittyParse Pop](https://open.spotify.com/user/mbirnie1/playlist/11eWDpyXO3P2T6ElIfjSV5?si=bCbRZumiT4usWb7de0jC4w)

Bitty frowned hard at the red bowtie. He twisted away from the mirror, tugging it off as he reached for the lavender one. Lordy, lavender was just as bad. How had all his favorite ties become gauche overnight?

His mama had reassured him over Skype last night, "Don't worry, Dicky. You'll do great. You'll charm the socks off 'em. Before you know it, they'll be movin' you over to that food magazine you love so much." And he was gonna prove her right. He just needed to put in a little time, show them what he could do.

But how could he do it in a tie that screamed _I don't know what I'm doing and by the way I’m bad with animals?_

Okay fine, maybe it wasn't the tie's fault. If this were Jack’s first game of the season, Bitty would be reminding him to breathe right about now. He would be alright. He was Eric Richard Bittle. He could land a double Axel with his eyes closed and bake a flourless chocolate cake in Georgia in July. He could do this.

Bitty had moved to Brooklyn two weeks ago, eager to start his new internship in Manhattan. For the next three months he would be a Social Media Associate for Fancy Feline cat food. The job paid a stipend - not much, but enough to finance his matchbook-sized bedroom and name-brand butter - and there was a possibility at the end to extend his contract. It wasn't exactly his dream job, but what was a boy supposed to do? A year out of college, a degree in American Studies, and no experience? Employers weren't exactly banging down his door with offers.

A year ago, Bitty thought Jack was his future. At graduation, he had plans of moving in with Jack, finding a job in Providence, and settling down into their shared life.

After Bitty moved to Providence, he’d sent resume after resume to employers but couldn’t find a job. Jack was out of town frequently and Bitty didn’t have any local friends – Lardo and Shitty and Holster and Ransom were all in Boston, which was just far enough away to be logistically difficult – and he found himself more isolated than he expected.

Bitty also realized that he’d only experienced Jack’s intensity and anxiety through the rosy lens of infatuation. They both struggled with the shift in their living situation, lord knows it was as hard on Jack as it was on him. In April when Jack’s playoff run ended abruptly from a wrist injury and an eight-week recovery, Bitty’d been ready to poke out his own eye rather than face another day of both of them at home, dancing around the fact that this just wasn’t working.

And so, after they’d finally talked and cried and shared a joint session with Jack’s therapist, Bitty and Jack called it quits and Bitty tearfully phoned Lardo to break the news. He’d stayed on her and Shitty’s lumpy couch in Boston for two months while Shitty called in a family favor and helped him land this internship.

Even after everything, Bitty was feeling hopeful. All he needed was a few months' experience and a job on his resume more substantial than ‘running a baking vlog’. He took a deep breath and released it, checked his hair one last time, queued up Queen Bey on his headphones, and headed for the subway.

 

_/_/_/ \\_\\_\\_

 

Bitty’s first day at the office was a whirlwind of new faces and information. Meesha, Bitty’s fellow intern and apparently the person in charge, led him on a brisk tour through the office and he practically skip-jogged to keep up with her. While they walked, she peppered him with information about the department.

"You’ll coordinate the images and story for all the social media platforms, and you’ll directly manage the endorsement relationships." Meesha glanced over her shoulder to check that he was keeping up. "I do all the site and ad placement, and Tito runs the admin side. We're all a hot mess this week prepping for Kit, but don’t worry - we'll get you settled in just fine."

"Kit?" Bitty asked.

"Oh yeah, Kit Purrson. She's launching as the face of Fancy Feline in, like, three weeks. Totes adorbs and has a crazy-ass following. We've got, like, a zillion things to do to get ready. I'm sure you'll jump right in. You've used Visio, right?"

By lunch, Bitty’s head was swirling with acronyms and spreadsheets. It felt a little like in figure skating when he’d come out of a scratch spin too fast - the world was wobbly and the colors were spinning, but he was confident it would right itself if he grinned and skated through it.

"Heeeey, how's our new boy doin'?" someone yelled as they passed his and Meesha’s cubicle. Bitty spied styled black hair over the cubicle wall.

"Hey Tito!” Meesha called back. “He's great!"

Tito appeared from around the corner, eight coffees in two to-go containers balanced masterfully on one arm. He read the lids and carefully passed one to Meesha. "You guys ready for our guest today? I’m totally having him sign something.”

Meesha rolled her eyes as she inhaled the fragrant coffee. “You are seriously the lamest. Sports are a consumerist construct and the guy is basically, like, Kit’s chaperone. She’s the real star.”

Tito laughed and offered a cup to Bitty, “Hey Eric, I wasn’t sure what to get you. How’s a vanilla sugar oat milk latte? It’s the special across the street.”

Bitty grinned. “Thanks, hon!” His first day was turning out pretty great.

Meesha steered Bitty into a large conference room. Tito ran to his desk for a hat and marker before joining the people assembling around the conference table. Lordy, he hadn’t been lying about an autograph. Who was this guy?

A dozen folks chatted quietly around the table. Their guest was apparently running late, and Meesha took the opportunity to fill Bitty in on launch plans. As she was explaining the finer points of multi-platform synchronization, Bitty heard a man’s laughter down the hall. His ears perked up. Did he know that voice? Surely it couldn’t be –

Bitty’s head jerked up as an effortlessly well-dressed man in a royal blue snapback stepped into the room. Their eyes locked.

Oh lord. Kent Parson.

 

_/_/_/ \\_\\_\\_

 

Kent scowled at Kit, his chin resting on his hands on the cold hardwood.

“C’mon, baby, you’ve got to eat it.”

Kit sniffed the dish daintily, nonplussed.

“I know, princess,” he wheedled, “but daddy’s going to make you the most famous li’l furbaby on the internet. You’ll pass grumpy cat like he forgot how to frown. All you have to do is eat the gross food.”

Kit mrowled in disapproval and Kent rearranged his awkward limbs. So this is what his adulthood had come to, he mused. Two condos, three sports cars, a slew of hockey awards, and apparently a cat too picky to eat the goddamn food she was paid a shitload of money to represent.

Tonight’s standoff had lasted an hour, and Kent would be damned if he let Kit win again.

He scratched his nose. He probably should be doing the prep work the Fancy Feline team needed before Kit’s photo shoot. At the meeting today, they’d given him a to-do list that rivaled his off-season training goals. He was supposed to check with Eric Bittle if he had any questions.

Speaking of which, why had Eric Blast-from-the-Past Bittle even been there today? Kent would have appreciated a goddamn heads-up, that’s for sure.

Eric looked good, he thought. A little taller and sharper than he remembered. His hair game was on point. Kent had only seen him a couple times in the four years since the Samwell party where they first met, and of course Eric had grown up, but seriously – he was hot now.

But why the hell was he in New York City? And was this related to the charming, old-man text messages Jack had started to send Kent out of the blue a month ago?

Kent debated texting Jack to ask, but it was a horrible idea. Either Jack and Eric were still together and Jack would send awkward Canadian nonsense about how great Eric was, or they weren’t together and Jack would get pissed and shut Kent out of his life again.

Kent sighed and climbed to his feet, heading to the refrigerator for Kit’s specialty wet food and a glass of white wine to wash down the bitter taste of defeat. He would fight the cat food battle another day. As Kit scarfed down hand-seared filet mignon, Kent sipped his wine and fiddled with his phone.

 

Kent: hey dude what’s up? I saw your boy today.

Jack: Hey Kent.

Jack: What?

Well shitballs, this was already turning out to be a terrible idea. No turning back now, Kent reasoned.

Kent: Eric was at a business meeting today. all suited up and shit.

Kent: what’s he doing in NYC? u guys ok?

Jack: Oh.

Jack: We broke up in April.

Kent: shit Zimms, that really blows. he seemed like a cool guy

Jack: Yeah.

Kent: sometimes it just doesn’t work out, y’know? i’m sure you’ll find somebody great

Jack: How was the meeting?

Kent: oh

Kent: it was good. boring as watching ice melt but productive I guess

Kent: eric looks good, I mean not in a weird creepy way but he looks like he’s doing ok?

[Jack is typing…]

[Last message received 8:54pm]

Kent: hey, did you see the new netflix show where ordinary people recreate fancy cakes and that crazy lady yells at everybody?

Kent: it’s the tits

Jack: No, but I’ll check it out.

Kent: dooo iiit

Jack: What’s the name?

Kent: fuck if I know. it’s the one with the previews of nasty looking cakes and ppl getting screamed at. you can’t miss it. it’s a goddamn gem.

Jack: Sounds like it.

Jack: And, thanks Parse. I’m glad he’s doing OK.

Kent: no problem man

Kent: any time

 

_/_/_/ \\_\\_\\_

 

Bitty paced all eight feet of his bedroom, back and forth, back and forth.

He was supposed to be starting a new life! In a city of eight million people, how had he stumbled upon the one person connected to his life with Jack? And how was he supposed to be professional and work with said person, when everyone (well, maybe just Bitty) knew that he was secretly a manipulative asshole?

Good gracious, he might be freaking out just a little. He needed reassurance. Who could he talk to that knew the situation and would be supportive and not weird?

 

Bitty: LARDOOOOO

Lardo: BITTTYYYY

Lardo: Why the yelling, Bits?

Bitty: I am coordinating a photo shoot at Kent Parson’s house next week. KENT PARSON’S HOUSE

Lardo: That’s sick bro.

Lardo: They’re giving you a lot of responsibility right away. Nice.

Bitty: -_-;

Bitty: I think you’re missing the point

Bitty: KENT PARSON KENT PARSON KENT PARSON

Lardo: Lol Bitty cool your jets. He’s been pretty chill lately, hasn’t he?

Bitty: If you mean ‘not making my boyfriend have any more panic attacks’, then yes he’s been chill

Bitty: But I’d say that’s a VERY low bar to hurdle

Lardo: Have you met him yet? How was it?

Lardo: Does he know you and Jack broke up?

Bitty: I’m pretty sure he didn’t know who I WAS

Bitty: Period.

Lardo: No way, dude. You’ve meet him multiple times, right?

Bitty: twice, 3 times if you count the disaster at the Haus

Lardo: He totally remembers you, dude. You’re unforgettable.

Lardo: You’re like a delightful minor superhero.

Lardo: You’re Antman.

Bitty: Ugggghhh this is the worst

Bitty: and Antman, seriously? We are SO gonna talk about that later

Lardo: Bitty, bro of my heart, it’s truth time. You sitting down?

Bitty: *sits*

Lardo: Good.

Lardo: Here’s the thing. Kent Parson is just a dude. A dude with some fucked-up history respective to one JLZ, but still just a dude.

Bitty: I know, but…

Lardo: Hush, Padawan.

Bitty: -_- *hushes*

Lardo: He’s probs not an evil person. You’ve only ever seen him in relation to J, and they went thru some messed up shit as kids. When he’s not dealing with that, he’s probably a boring-ass adult with a job and a cat. You can’t judge him forever based on the 3 times you’ve met.

Lardo: Was he awful the other times?

Bitty: Well no, mostly just at Epikegster

Bitty: But he was Really Bad that time

Lardo: I get it Bits, but if that’s his only awful moment, then the dude already has like a 67% not-awful rate.

Bitty: So you’re saying I’m all worked up over nothin?

Lardo: Maybe? Give him a chance.

Lardo: You don’t have to be BFFs. Just be professional and friendly until he gives you a reason not to be. If it turns out he’s a dickhead, you have my blessing to fuck up his shit.

Bitty: Thanks Lards. Mind if I snap you outfit choices later?

Lardo: Do it. Matching polish?

Bitty: Yes’m but toes only. I miss your help with fingers. It gets all smudgy when I do it

Lardo: I miss you, bro.

Bitty: You too :-*

 

_/_/_/ \\_\\_\\_

 

Kent pressed the center button on his phone again…8:51am. This was officially the longest morning in the history of time.

So far he’d gone for a run, made a smoothie, showered, arranged the throw pillows, hidden the dopey photo of him and his sis at Disneyland, brushed Kit. Now he was sitting on the couch, running shoes bouncing on the marble coffee table as he waited for the Fancy Feline team to arrive. Maybe he should make coffee? He hopped up, re-fluffed the pillows, and headed to the kitchen.

The crew arrived promptly at nine, accepting the hot mugs of coffee Kent passed around. Eric shook his hand and started up a pleasant and professional stream of small talk as the photographer set up tripods and the assistant unfolded white umbrellas.

Unfortunately, Kit decided this was her party and she could hide if she wanted to. She spent the first hour perched on the bookcase, refusing to budge for treats or catnip.

Kent couldn’t blame her. Usually it was just her and him in the apartment, and even when he had people over, she generally ignored them and slept in the bedroom on the Monsieur Taco pillow he won her at Coney Island. Having a half-dozen strangers in her space, hovering over her with cameras and lights? He’d probably peace out too, if he were her.

After thirty minutes and no success, Kent relinquished the catnip to the assistant and excused himself to start a fresh pot of coffee. From the kitchen counter, he found himself watching Eric.

Eric was frowning as the drama unfolded, his lean torso hunched in concentration. His right foot tapped impatiently on the rug. It wasn’t Eric’s job to get Kit to participate. Eric had explained this to Kent while they were setting up, that his role today was to make sure they got all the shots they needed for the campaign.

As Kent watched him now, Eric nodded to himself like he’d made a decision and marched over to the bookcase. He began talking animatedly with the photographer and gesturing rapidly, taking charge of the situation like a tiny major general. Kent was impressed. Hell, even Kit watched him with interest.

Kent felt a little like a jerk – he’d always thought Eric was childish and annoying, based on their past brief interactions and Eric’s animated Twitter feed (not that he’d internet stalked him, pssh). But maybe Kent had it wrong. This version of Eric seemed full-to-bursting with charisma and natural leadership. Hell, even Queen Kit respected it.

As Eric directed the strategy to coax Kit off her perch and over to the windowsill, Kent couldn’t help but stare. Eric glowed warm and golden, like Southern sunlight was radiating from his pores. He looked good in control.

Kent’s stomach did a pleasant swoop as he thought about Eric taking control in other ways. Or what it would take to convince Eric to give up that control, to go soft and pliant and let Kent – or someone, whatever – do the controlling.

His chest tingled warmly. This probably wasn’t the best train of thought for a professional gathering; nothing like sporting a quarter chub at ten a.m. with people here to photograph your cat. He sighed, rearranged his junk, and headed back into the living room with the coffee pot.

The rest of the shoot ran smoothly. Kit, once she felt comfortable, totally hammed it up for the camera. Eric took behind-the-scenes videos and sent the best ones to Kent. They all shared high-fives when a video Kent tweeted of himself ineptly juggling cat toys got retweeted by George Takei. In celebration of their good social media fortune, Kent poured everyone mimosas.

Before Kent knew it, it was late afternoon and the photographer’s assistant started to disassemble the equipment. Eric herded everyone to the sofa where he handed out packets of instructions and debriefed them on next steps, and then the crew shook hands and headed out one by one.

As Kent shut the door after the last person, he wandered into the kitchen to find Eric still in the apartment, loading the dishwasher.

“Dude, you really don’t need to do that. I can do it after you go.”

“Kent Parson,” Eric scolded, “my mama would never forgive me if I left a host with a mess to clean up. It’s nothin’, really.”

“Thanks, man,” Kent replied. It was cool of Eric to offer and, if Kent was being honest, he probably would have left it a mess until his housecleaner came tomorrow. He started to consolidate cardboard containers of Chinese food.

They worked in silence in the spacious kitchen, making quick work of the cleanup. Kent caught Eric humming to himself. He recognized the tune – _All For You_ by Janet Jackson – and sang along to Eric’s humming.

Eric let out a surprised huff, his cheeks pink. “Oh lordy! Was I singing that out loud?”

Kent just laughed and pulled out his phone, and one of his favorite pop mixes began playing from hidden speakers. Eric bopped his head to Janelle Monae as he dried the glasses. Kent lip-synced into a bottle of soy sauce like it was a microphone.

As Kent reached around Eric’s shoulder to place the wine glasses on a high shelf, their eyes met and Kent winked. He’d enjoyed a few mimosas and Eric was cute, so sue him. He just thought it’d be fun to make Eric blush, and his efforts were thoroughly rewarded. Eric’s blush spread from his face down his neck, reddening the soft skin at the base of his throat.

Kent felt the warm tingly feelings in his chest again. Shit, Eric was cute.

Abruptly, Eric turned and said, “I really should get going. We’ve got the kitchen under control and I need to upload these videos before tomorrow.”

Kent felt oddly deflated, although of course Eric was going to leave when they finished cleaning. He should probably apologize in case his wink had made Eric uncomfortable. Kent spent his days around gross hockey players, maybe he’d just committed some corporate sexual harassment shit and he didn’t even know it. Kent fished around for something to say that didn’t make him sound like a creeper.

He smiled and tried, “Kit really enjoyed having you here today. You’re good with cats.”

“Ha, thanks.” Bitty twisted the dishtowel in his hands. “I’m not really a cat person, but Kit’s great. Y’all’ve got a really special bond.”

“Maybe you could come over and get some more candid shots sometime?” Kent made a face. For Christ’s sake, he sounded ridiculous. “I mean, the ones today were really good.”

Eric’s face did something complicated. Kent watched him bite his bottom lip.

“Thanks,” Eric replied finally, “but no. I should go.”

“Oh,” Kent exhaled, “Yeah, of course. Sure thing, man.”

Kent helped Eric retrieve his things and walked him to the entryway. As Kent shut the door behind him, he rolled his eyes to the ceiling.

He was so fucked.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Tune in next week for:_ Does he like me? Does he not? Drama! And, Queen of the World Kit Purrson launches as the face of Fancy Feline cat food.
> 
> Until then, come holler at me in the comments! <3


	2. It's Been Waiting For You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back, friends! If you want a little Bittyparse playlist to brighten your day, here's what I've been listening to while I write:  
> [Fierce BittyParse Pop](https://open.spotify.com/user/mbirnie1/playlist/11eWDpyXO3P2T6ElIfjSV5?si=bCbRZumiT4usWb7de0jC4w)
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

“Lordy, Bun, he winked. Winked! What on earth was I thinking, stayin’ late like I could just make myself at home?”

Señor Bun listened patiently, all floppy ears and non-judgmental beaded eyes. Bitty turned away from the desk, where he’d just finished organizing video clips on his laptop for work the next day, and pulled back the covers to climb into bed. He settled Señor Bun into the crook of his arm and tugged the quilt up around his chin.

“You’re the best listener, Bun.” Bitty nuzzled the worn rabbit and closed his eyes. He hadn’t talked to Señor Bun when he lived with Jack – it seemed too juvenile for his serious-NHL-star boyfriend’s bedroom – but he always felt better after spilling his feelings to his rabbit, and today’s events definitely needed Señor Bun’s comforting touch.

The thing was, Bitty had liked Kent’s wink. Really, really liked it. He’d enjoyed the whole day, in fact. Kent was surprisingly warm and welcoming. He’d been a great host, offering them drinks, chatting with the crew, picking up lunch from the Cantonese restaurant on 10th Ave.

He was also easy to look at, and Bitty wasn’t blind – built like a daydream with his blonde waves and solid muscles. He was only a few inches taller than Bitty, but Bitty would bet he had thirty pounds on him, all pecs and abs and quads, _mercy_.

But he shouldn’t be thinking about all that. It was too soon after his and Jack’s breakup to be thinking about someone else, and Kent Parson of all people. What on earth was he doing?

He opened his eyes and stared at the ceiling in the dark. Sometime last month, he’d stopped counting the number of days since the breakup. One day it just didn’t make sense anymore. It was like he’d looked down at himself and found a millstone in his hands he never realized he’d been carrying, and once he realized its weight, he could finally drop it.

He still had sad days, and little things sometimes knocked him off-balance like a gust of wind. Jack had been his first boyfriend, first real love. Bitty missed a lot of things about their old life. He’d hear a person speaking Quebecois on the subway, or see ducks in Central Park, or smell maple syrup as he walked past a café, and memories would wash over him.

Bitty hugged Señor Bun tighter and sighed, feeling guilty for the little part of him that desired Kent Parson and his muscles. It was disloyal. Kent was the Bad Guy. Wasn’t he?

“We’ll get through this, Bun, just you wait and see. We’ll be courteous and professional. It’s a business relationship, that’s all.”

As reassurances went, it felt a little hollow, but Señor Bun didn’t comment and Bitty let the conversation drop. He closed his eyes, burrowed a little lower under the covers, and focused on his breath until he drifted off to sleep.

 

_/_/_/ \\_\\_\\_

 

Kent: [image07194421.jpg]

Jack: Is Kit wearing a Rangers jersey?

Kent: dude

Kent: read better

Kent: it says Purrson 90 on the back

Jack: Hah, you got her a personalized cat jersey. You’re ridiculous.

Kent: you’re just jelly cuz she could own ur ass at hockey

Kent: her FO% is .52

Jack: I repeat, you’re ridiculous. How’s your day?

Kent: her slapshot tops 90mph

Jack: Did you run today?

Kent: yeah but it was muggy as balls

Kent: u?

Jack: 6 miles, 39:50, light hills

Kent: slacker

Jack: What was your time?

Kent: a gentleman wouldn’t ask

Jack: C’mon, Kenny…

Jack: Please?

Kent: haha

Kent: oh man I forgot I ordered delivery. gotta go, food’s here [sushi emoji] [grinning cat emoji]

Jack: Oh

Jack: Yeah, OK.

 

Kent dug the heels of his hands into his eyes. Ugh, why did all of his texting turn into piles of steaming shit?

He was texting Jack to build their friendship. Back when Kent was seeing his therapist regularly, they’d talked about what Kent would do if Jack started communicating with him again. They’d written down a list of strategies that Kent could use to help rebuild their friendship as adults, without the tangle of hormones, stress, and unresolved mental health issues that led to their first fiery downfall.

This – texting Jack pictures of Kit – was part of Kent’s Being-Friends-With-Zimms List. So far Jack had initiated most of their text conversations, sending Kent his workout stats and asking him for Netflix recommendations. Kent figured it was his turn, and Kit looked hella cute in her Purrson jersey. He wasn’t about to offer Jack his morning run time; he was always faster than Zimms and it wasn’t polite to brag.

He wanted to eventually get around to asking about Eric, since he was pretty sure adults asked each other if it was OK to be friends with their exes. But, like, one step at a time.

And then Jack had called him _Kenny_ in his text. It was the first time since that party at Samwell years ago. Kent called Jack ‘Zimms’ all the time, and Jack called him ‘Parse’. Those were hockey nicknames, Parse-and-Zimms, Zimms-and-Parse.

Kent’s stomach felt twisted in knots. ‘Kenny’ wasn’t a hockey nickname. It was intimate, and a decade ago it would have been followed by desperate, whispered Quebecois. Kent had convinced himself ages ago that Jack didn’t think of him as ‘Kenny’ anymore.

So, Kent totally freaked and aborted the conversation with made-up sushi. Fuck his life.

He sighed and flipped his phone over. This friendship plan was therapist-approved, damn it. He wouldn’t waste his best chance at being friends with Jack on one stupid texting freakout.

 

Kent: sorry Zimms, the delivery guy was downstairs

Jack: It’s no problem.

Kent: so, tell me about ur run. get passed by any little old ladies?

 

_/_/_/ \\_\\_\\_

 

Bitty and Kent emailed frequently in the two weeks leading up to launch. There were a surprising number of details to iron out. They exchanged photos. Bitty sent a list of proposed posts for Kit’s Instagram and Twitter. Kent replied with changes (Kit always wrote in first person, #NYClife was better curated than #NYC, etc.). Bitty appreciated Kent’s thoughtfulness.

He didn’t appreciate sorting through a deluge of emails from Kent, though, and he wished they could do some things over text. Kent had a habit of sending an email half-written, then replying four or five times with additions and random thoughts. Was it weird to give a professional contact his personal number? It wasn’t, right? He had Meesha’s number. But with all the weird history between him and Kent, what if it was a bad idea?

The night before launch, after sifting through another forty emails from Kent, Bitty finally bit the bullet and emailed Kent his cell number.

 

 _Tomorrow’s the big day!!!_ , he wrote. _The advertising placements go live at 3am, social media at 9am. We’ll monitor the comments and retweets from the office. You and Kit are going to do great._

_Here’s my cell if you need anything. Shoot me a text if you want help replying to Kit’s comments, or if you need me to use the admin functions to block a troll (not that Kit will have any trolls, she’s the sweetest li’l thing and the internet loves her)._

_Talk to you tomorrow!_

_Eric_

 

An hour later, Bitty’s phone dinged with an incoming message.

 

[Unknown Sender]: hey this is Kent

[Unknown Sender]: texting so you have my number for tomorrow

Bitty: Hi Kent! How y’all doing tonight?

Kent: good, watching minority report and drinking wine. Kit’s practicing her autograph

Bitty: She’s such a sweetie [grinning emoji]

Kent: u?

Bitty: I’m waiting for a batch of mini-pies to finish baking, then I’m off to bed. You & Kit should get some sleep too, big day tomorrow

Kent: pie??? [pie emoji] [heart-eyes cat emoji]

Bitty: I’m a bit of a baker. It helps when I’m nervous [blushing emoji]

Bitty: Someday I’ll bring you some, how’s that sound? My blueberry cream cheese pie was first runner-up at the Georgia state fair

Kent: you are my hero

Bitty: Lol talk to you tomorrow Kent

Kent: night Eric

 

_/_/_/ \\_\\_\\_

 

“Can I get something started for you, sir?”

Kent stepped forward and smiled at the barista. He ordered a latte and a morning bun. She rang him up and efficiently prepared his order, handing him a to-go mug and a pastry the size of Kit’s head. He squeezed into a booth with rustic benches and a bud vase of daisies, and waited for Eric.

This was Kent and Eric’s first Post-Launch Monthly Touchbase, or whatever businessy name Eric had called it in his email.

The day was gorgeous – cool and dry, which was unheard of in New York in August – and Kent didn’t want to waste it by meeting in an office. He’d asked if they could meet somewhere else, and Eric had recommended this sunny café near Washington Square Park. It was eclectic and cute, and Kent was going to chirp Eric to hell and back over the hipster croissant/bagel hybrid – cragels? bagants? – the café was supposedly famous for.

After ten minutes, Kent spotted Eric through the window approaching the café, tugging earbuds out of his ears and looping them around his thin fingers. He wore a pale yellow sweater over a light blue button-down and navy khakis that hugged his thighs, and Kent silently, sternly reminded his dick that this was a business meeting.

Eric ordered and made his way to the table. He set down a small pastry between them and looked at Kent with his warm, inviting brown eyes.

“Have you tried the cragels? They’re just lovely. I got us one to share, they always sell out.”

Kent groaned.

 

The business part of the meeting was efficient and smooth, like all of his and Eric’s interactions so far. In the two weeks since launch, they’d texted regularly and kept up with the marketing plan, so really all they needed to do was confirm the advertising placements for September.

Kent enjoyed working with Eric. He was capable and self-assured. Although Kent was starting to discover he was something of procrastinator, if the number of emails Eric sent after midnight was any indication.

Bitty tapped on his phone screen. “Let’s see now, you’re in training camp starting September third…any dates we need to work around before then?”

Kent tore off a strip of morning bun. “Well, we’re already back to training every day, with morning workouts and ice time most afternoons. I don’t think there’s any conflicts though,” he took a large bite and paused as he chewed, “I’ll text you if something comes up.”

Bitty looked up and his lips quirked into a smile. “Lord, I forgot y’all’d be in daily practices already. I can’t believe how quickly I’ve forgotten the hockey schedule. This meeting wasn’t at a bad time, was it?”

Was Eric making a reference to Jack’s schedule or his own college days? Kent wasn’t sure, so he politely ignored it.

“Nah, you’re golden. I started early and did upper body work before coming here.”

“Bulking up for the season?”

“You hadn’t noticed?” Kent asked, fake-sweetly. He flexed comically and Eric laughed.

“Well you keep workin’ on that morning bun, hon. I’m sure that helps.”

Kent gawped. Eric was _chirping_ him. He grinned. It was on.

 

They joked and talked as customers filed in and out around them. Kent’s cheeks hurt from smiling. Eric’s short hair had gone a little fluffy where he kept unconsciously running his fingers through it. Kent had an irrational desire to grab Eric’s wrist and kiss each of his fingertips. He squashed the impulse and rearranged their empty plates in the center of the table.

Somehow the conversation turned to Vegas. It was less weird than Kent expected, although he knew they were both dancing around some of the particulars.

“Why did you move to New York? The Aces wouldn’t have traded you, right? Not right after the Stanley Cup win. I expected them to give you the C or something.”

Kent nodded. “They wanted to. They were ready to re-up my contract, add a no-move clause, the whole nine yards. I just, I never really settled in Vegas, I guess. I’d made a few friends, some guys on the team I’m still close with, but it was hard being all the way across the country. When the Rangers put out feelers – Smith was retiring as Captain, they were looking for something long-term…” He shrugged. “I was interested.”

Eric made a supportive noise. “I reckon it’s nice being closer to family. I know I’d love to have my mama closer than a plane ride away.”

Kent shrugged again. “I’m not really close with my mom and stepdad. It’s cool to be near my sister, though.” He couldn’t hide a grin as he bragged a little. “She’s a senior at NYU, majoring in Biomolecular Science. A total whiz kid. I have no idea where she gets it.”

Eric smiled at him and something warm fluttered in Kent’s belly.

“What about you? How are you liking New York?”

Eric tensed subtly, a tightness in his shoulders and jaw, before he relaxed and leaned forward.

“It’s great. I mean, it’s a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, y’know? I always wanted to see the world outside Georgia, and this is my chance.” His smile faltered and he picked at the napkin in front of him. He appeared to be thinking.

“I never really thought New York was where I’d end up, but it’s been a good change. When–”

Eric stopped. Kent held his breath as Eric exhaled and squared his shoulders.

“When Jack and I broke up, I was worried I wasn’t gonna find anything up north and I’d have to move home with my parents. I felt like such a failure. When Shitty – he’s a friend of mine from college – when Shitty helped me land this internship, I was nervous as all get out. New York City, lord. But if this was my chance to stay and make something of myself, I wasn’t going to waste it.”

Kent nodded and watched Eric’s face. This was the most personal conversation he and Eric had ever had – shit, it was the first time either of them had mentioned Jack – and he watched Eric’s eyes for any sign of regret.

Eric glanced up and caught Kent’s eyes, then returned his gaze to his napkin and huffed a little laugh.

“Listen to me, ramblin’ on. You’ve probably got all sorts of important things to do today and here I am, monopolizing your time with my life story.”

Kent wanted so badly to reach out and press his fingers against Eric’s face, smooth the frown from his cheekbones. He squeezed his fingernails into his palms under the table.

“I like your life story,” he offered.

Eric looked up, questioning.

Kent smiled in a way he was sure looked dopey, but whatever. “I mean, I like talking to you. Although your choice in cafes is abhorrent. I’m totally choosing the next location. Us New Yorkers gotta educate you newbies.”

His chirp had exactly the desired effect. Eric’s eyes lit up and he straightened in mock indignation.

“Abhorrent? Mister Parson, this café is _adorable_. Where would you have us meet, a hot dog cart?”

“Somewhere that respects the sanctity of the bagel, for starters.”

Eric laughed, full and rich. He shook his head as he began to bus their dishes. “Well, you just let me know what New York institution you think I need to try first, and we can meet there for next month’s meeting.”

Kent smiled and grabbed their things. _He wants to do this again_ , his sentimental brain thought stupidly.

 

When they got outside, Eric turned to walk toward the subway at the same time as Kent started walking the other way. They both stopped and turned quickly to face each other, and Eric nearly collided with Kent’s chest. Kent grabbed Eric’s upper arm instinctively, steadying him as he laughed.

Eric’s cheeks flushed at the contact, and at that moment Kent wanted Eric so, so badly. Eric was handsome and bright. He lit up Kent's day like a ray of sunshine through clouds.

And okay, Kent realized that was a corny metaphor. And the whole 'cloudy day' thing wasn't totally accurate – Kent loved his life in New York. He was at the peak of his NHL career, leading the league in assists and taking his team to the playoffs for three consecutive years. He liked the guys he played with, he’d made friends, and he kept in touch with Troy and Scraps.

Hell, he’d even dated a little, something he couldn’t have imagined as a rookie in Vegas. Neither of his recent ex-boyfriends had been endgame material, but he was proud of himself for the serious therapy that finally helped him feel stable enough for a relationship.

In short, he hadn’t expected a small Southern blonde to burst into his life and turn everything on its head. But right now, he felt like there was an Eric-sized hole in his world, and here was Eric, right in front of him.

Eric’s laugh faded and he looked up at Kent with wide, vulnerable eyes. Kent stared at his eyelashes, flitting open and closed as he blinked.

Oh god, Kent suddenly realized he’d been staring for way too long. Had Eric noticed? He dropped the hand on Eric’s arm.

“I, um–” he started, stopped.

Eric jumped in, “I, uh, I’ll email you about the advertising placements.”

“Yeah, the advertising placements,” Kent echoed.

They watched each other in silence. Eric licked his lips, and Kent’s mouth went dry.

“I have to get to the office,” Eric said finally. He waved a hand in the general direction of midtown, but kept his eyes glued to Kent's.

Kent nodded. “I should get home, feed Kit before she gets hungry and starts hunting the neighbors.”

Eric laughed, and just like that the moment passed.

“Take care now, Kent. I’ll be talkin’ to you soon.”

Kent returned the smile. “You too, Eric.”

He watched as Eric walked away. He lifted his left hand and traced his lips with his fingers. If he concentrated, he could almost imagine the feeling was Eric's lips brushing his.

Fucking hell, he was such a sap. He shoved his hands in his pockets and, when Eric’s blonde head finally disappeared down the subway stairs, he turned and walked toward home.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Stay tuned next week for:_ Will Kent tell Jack about Eric? And will Eric tell someone other than Señor Bun about Kent? And when will they finally kiss??? Who knows!
> 
> Until then, come holler at me in the comments! I'd love to hear your thoughts and theories. <3


	3. What's It Gonna Hurt?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi friends! We've changed chapter titles from Taylor to Ariana...Bitty insisted.
> 
> I'm still rocking out to this playlist as I write. I hope you like it!  
> [Fierce Bittyparse Pop](https://open.spotify.com/user/mbirnie1/playlist/11eWDpyXO3P2T6ElIfjSV5?si=bCbRZumiT4usWb7de0jC4w)
> 
> And this is the song Bitty listens to as he's getting ready:  
> [Side to Side](https://youtu.be/SXiSVQZLje8)
> 
> Enjoy!

“Okay, brah, so what happened after that?”

Bitty rolled his eyes and adjusted the laptop resting on his knees. “C’mon, Shitty, I told you this part already. He grabbed my arm so I wouldn’t fall and then stared at me for a minute.”

Shitty cupped his chin in his hand and sighed longingly at the screen. “Fucking love at first sight, my man. Like a scene out of a queer-positive, alternate universe John Hughes movie.”

“You sap,” Lardo snorted, and shoved Shitty’s shoulder. “So what will you do?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you obviously want to bone him and have his hypothetical babies, so what’s the plan?”

Bitty sputtered. He could feel his cheeks blushing and he covered his face with his hands to hide the evidence. This was embarrassing enough as it was.

“I don’t know, guys…I don’t even know if I like him like that.”

Lardo arched one eyebrow.

Shitty leaned offscreen briefly, then reappeared with a joint between his fingers. He waved it at Bitty decisively. “You can’t fool us, little brah. You look super glowy for a dude who just spent two hours with another dude he didn’t like.”

Bitty sighed. He knew it was fibbing to say that he didn’t like Kent. But what was he supposed to do? He didn’t want to lie, but the situation was a mess. Kent was his client. And Jack’s ex. And a hockey player. Apparently Bitty had a type, and his type was Closeted Top Scorers in the Eastern Conference.

He was pretty sure Kent felt something for him, too. He may not have a lot of relationship experience, and goodness knows it took him and Jack long enough to sort out their feelings, but he also wasn’t born yesterday, and Kent’s winks and smiles and lingering stares…well, he could read between those lines.

“Earth to Bitty…hellloooo?”

Bitty looked back at the screen, where Shitty was waving his arms at the camera.

“Look, I like him. Okay? I want to have his – _lordy_ – his hypothetical babies. But he’s Fancy Feline’s client. Isn’t that illegal or somethin’?”

Shitty stroked his mustache. “It could be problematic, I’ll give you that. But it’s only a conflict of interest if it affects the business relationship. As long as you keep it on the DL and don’t, like, grab his ass in meetings – although, the guy does have a handful of handsome ass…maybe a couple handfuls…”

“Shitty!” Bitty cried. His cheeks were seriously going to catch fire.

“Sorry bro. What was I sayin’? Oh, as long as you keep it professional and don’t let it affect your business decisions, I wouldn’t sweat it. Besides, if they transfer you to another department when your internship ends, you’re golden. You can grab all the hot hockey ass you want.”

Bitty leaned his head back against the headboard. What did he even want? He didn’t want to jeopardize this job, goodness knows he needed it for his resumé. But he also wanted Kent. Lord, how he _wanted_.

Bitty tried to remember the last time he was this infatuated with another person. It was obviously Jack – he and Jack had circled each other for two years before making a move. They’d wasted so much time that they could have spent together. Bitty didn’t want to make that mistake again. 

He didn’t have the luxury of time with Kent. At the end of September, his three-month internship would be over. That was only a month away. What if the company didn’t extend his contract? The Rangers’ season would start in October, and it’s not like Kent would have loads of free time. If Bitty didn’t give him a reason to make time, they might never see each other again.

Lardo leaned in and eyed the screen as she said, “You’re thinking awfully hard, Bits. Care to share?”

Bitty nodded to himself, decision made.

“I’m gonna go for it.”

Shitty whooped and Lardo smirked.

“Shitty, you’re right. I reckon we can keep it professional, and I don’t wanna lose my chance by waiting. If he’s interested – and that’s a big if.” Bitty pointed at the camera for emphasis. “ _If_ he’s interested, I want to give it a shot.”

 

_/_/_/ \\_\\_\\_

 

Kent’s phone buzzed for the fifth time in an hour. It was from Eric, another chirp about the episode of _Chopped_ they were both watching. Kent grinned and tucked his toes under Kit’s couch cushion as he typed a reply.

Somehow, ever since their meeting in the café, Kent and Eric had gone from business acquaintances who occasionally texted, to text acquaintances who occasionally talked business. Kent was totally down for the shift. He hadn’t seen Eric in person since then – his schedule had gotten crazy and he knew Eric was swamped with his job – but he was already imagining the things they would do the next time they saw each other.

It was super lame to be crushing this hard on someone he hardly knew. He was almost thirty, for god’s sake, and he probably should have wised up a decade ago. But you know what, fuck it. He’d wasted most of his twenties pining after a teenage heartbreak. He was a grown-ass dude now and he could do what he wanted.

 

Kent: i found where we should go to our next meeting thingy

Eric: Our monthly touchbase? That’s great! Where?

Kent: i’m not telling. it’s a surprise

Eric: Ok lol, how am I supposed to get there?

Kent: i’ll pick u up

Kent: lambo or r8?

Eric: Bless you

Kent: cool, r8 it is

Eric: [puzzled emoji]

Kent: [sportscar emoji] [thumbs-up emoji] [sunglasses emoji]

 

Kent set his phone on the table when it became clear Eric wasn’t replying right away. He snuggled further down the couch, and Kit stretched out on her cushion like she was trying to protect her space from his feet. Kent’s legs were sore from a grueling practice today, and it felt good to relax at home.

Kent’s phone buzzed and he grabbed for it. That would be Eric, chirping him about his flashy cars.

 

Jack: Hi Kent. Ready for pre-season?

 

Definitely not Eric. That was cool, he could roll with the punches.

 

Kent: hey zimms

Jack: When is your first game?

Kent: next saturday at home, then leave for a 2-game roadie in cali

Kent: u?

Jack: We play the Isles next Friday

Kent: cool

 

Eric: how on earth you justify TWO sports cars in NYC, I’ll never know. smh.

 

Kent’s stomach did a little flip at seeing Eric’s name on the screen.

 

Kent: three

Kent: sports cars, that is. if u count the beamer

Eric: Lord, where do you even park them?

Eric: Also what day is good to meet? How 'bout Saturday?

 

Jack: Would you want to meet up this weekend? We’ll be in New York until Saturday afternoon.

Jack: It would be nice to see you.

 

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.

Kent muted the television. He needed to think right now, and he couldn’t do it with Ted Allen describing kumquat soup in the background. Fucking hell. Of course Eric and Jack wanted to meet on the same goddamn weekend. Kent’s life was basically a Lifetime movie. He scrubbed his face with his hands and weighed his options.

He really wanted to see Eric. That was a given. Eric made him feel weirdly happy. It was the first time in forever that he’d felt this optimistic about someone.

And Zimms…Kent hadn’t hung out with Jack since the doomed frat party of 2014, not unless you counted the small talk at galas and awards ceremonies. He didn’t even know what they had in common anymore other than hockey. It might be totally weird, but meeting up was part of his Being-Friends-With-Jack Master Plan, and he still wanted to be friends, even if it required super awkward hangout time.

A niggling part of Kent’s brain was worried that seeing Jack would dredge up old feelings. Kent was doing fine now, doing great actually, but when Jack had called him ‘Kenny’ last month, his brain had gone totally haywire. What if seeing him was like that, but a million times worse? What if he fell hopelessly in love again?

Kent flopped across the couch and onto Kit, trapping her with his arms and nuzzling his face into her side.

“Tell me what to do, baby girl.”

Kit twisted like a goalie blocking a wraparound and jumped free of Kent’s arms. He watched her disappear into the bedroom.

“I see how it is!” Kent called after her.

His phone buzzed. Crap, he probably should have texted Eric and Zimms back like five minutes ago.

 

Eric: I'm also free Thursday or Friday

 

Kent’s stomach swooped. Before he could answer, his phone dinged again.

 

Jack: I’m sorry if that was overstepping.

Jack: I understand if you don’t want to meet up.

 

Kent noticed that his stomach didn’t do any swoopy-feelings at seeing Jack’s name on his phone. Huh. That was a good sign, right?

 

Eric: Basically I have no life yet in this city........ :/

 

Kent felt the swoopy feeling again. Yep, he definitely only felt it for Eric. Taking it as a sign from the Lifetime movie gods, he replied,

 

Kent: how's thursday? gotta get my beauty sleep friday and saturdays the game

Eric: Thursday's great! 6pm?

Eric: Y'know, can we make it 7pm instead?

Kent: 7 is perf. text me ur address

 

And to Jack,

 

Kent: sure zimms, let’s meet sat morning

 

Kent unmuted the television and stretched his legs along the full length of the couch. The upholstery was warm where Kit had been sleeping.

Now would probably be a good time to tell Jack and Eric about each other. He was pretty sure adults were supposed to tell each other about being friends with exes, although he’d never been in that situation. It seemed like an upstanding thing that a real adult would do.

But what would he say to Jack that wouldn’t scare him away? And more importantly, what would he say to Eric that wouldn’t be a total buzzkill for whatever feelings Eric potentially had for him?

He stared vacantly at the TV. If he told Eric about Jack, and then Jack decided to ghost him again, he’d ruin his chances with Eric for nothing. His and Jack’s track record of being friends wasn’t exactly stellar. Hanging out with Jack might be awkward and he'd bail after an hour. Surely that wouldn’t warrant telling Eric about. And if it went well, Kent would have plenty of time to tell him later. Right?

Kent nodded at his own logic. He would wait to tell them. It would be fine.

Everything would be fine.

 

_/_/_/ \\_\\_\\_

 

_“…I’ve been here all night….I’ve been here all daaaay…and boy you got me walkin’ side to side…”_

Bitty swayed his hips and sang along over the hairdryer.

He’d been looking forward to this meeting all week. If he was being honest, it was a work meeting only in name. He’d transferred his work files to his phone so he wouldn’t need a laptop. He’d pushed the start time to 7pm so they wouldn’t hit happy hour. He wanted to have the luxury to take things slowly, to suggest dinner or more drinks without the pressure of happy hour ending at seven.

He stepped back from the mirror and gave himself a come-hither look. Should he add eyeliner?

He grabbed his phone off the toilet back.

 

Bitty: eyeliner??

Lardo: yasss

Bitty: [blowing kiss emoji]

 

He closed one eye, stuck out his tongue in concentration, and started to apply.

 

At 7:05, Bitty’s front door buzzed. Kent was downstairs, leaning against a royal blue Audi. He flashed Bitty a smile as he opened the passenger door, then walked to the other side and slid into the driver’s seat. When he pressed the ignition, the powerful engine settled into a deep purr.

“You ready to start your New York education?”

As they crossed the Manhattan Bridge and drove into lower Manhattan, Bitty’s leg bounced restlessly. He forced himself to sit still and squeezed his fingers together in his lap. Kent was right here, and he was so much hotter than Bitty remembered. It was hard to be around him without staring; everything about him felt electric. Eric willed his dick to ignore the observation. His skinny khakis wouldn’t exactly hide an erection.

They pulled up to a swanky hotel and a uniformed man opened Bitty’s door. Kent gave instructions to the valet and handed her a folded bill.

“Is this where we’re going?”

“Nah, we’re just parking. The Dominick does good valet service.” Kent grinned and motioned for Bitty to follow him down the block. “You’ll see. We’re going to a real New York institution.”

 

The location Kent had picked for their date ( _meeting_ , Bitty scolded himself) turned out to be a 1960’s tiki bar that had been in business for fifty years. Kent peppered Bitty with details about local history as they made their way to the bar.

The interior of the bar was dark and hazy. The ceiling was completely covered with autographed dollar bills pushed into the ceiling with drink umbrellas; Kent pointed out his own name, and Bitty politely pretended he could see it in the mass of bills. Surfing movies played on a TV in the corner, vintage posters covered the walls, and everything was covered in a fine film of dust.

Kent ordered drinks – two variations of something fruity and blended, garnished with pineapple – and he let Bitty try both and pick his favorite. They slid into a mostly-hidden back booth. Bitty noticed the bill Kent slipped the bartender, and the ‘Reserved’ sign the bartender removed from the tabletop before they took their seats.

Bitty couldn’t help feeling a little bit awed at the way Kent spent money. Jack and Kent both made a lot of money playing hockey (Kent made two million more, not that Bitty’d checked, that wouldn’t be polite). But they spent it so differently. Jack was reserved and cautious, investing in real estate and vehicles with good mileage and safety records. Kent spent money like it was water. He seemed to view money as a means to solve problems and enjoy himself. After years of coexisting with Jack, Bitty found Kent’s largesse exciting.

As they sipped their drinks, the conversation was light and easy. Bitty leaned into Kent’s space and listened to him describe his favorite New York restaurants. They traded stories and chirps until their glasses were empty and Kent hailed a waiter.

“Another?”

Bitty grinned and nodded. His limbs felt loose and warm. Lordy, he couldn’t even taste the rum in these drinks.

When their refills arrived, Bitty leaned forward to taste Kent’s drink and used the movement as an excuse to shift his knee so that it pressed against Kent’s under the table. Kent glanced up sharply. He didn’t move away. Bitty’s stomach did somersaults.

The thing Bitty loved about conversations with Kent, is how he felt like an equal in them. He didn’t feel young or inexperienced or like an object of adoration – although watching the way Kent’s eyes tracked him as he talked, maybe there was a little of that, too. But he felt like an adult and an equal. Bitty had as many stories to share as Kent did, and Kent seemed genuinely interested in them. He asked follow-up questions about Bitty’s job. He whistled at Bitty’s recounting of the Jam Fiasco of 2015. Bitty thrived on the attention.

By the time they finished their second drinks, Bitty had his hand on Kent’s forearm as Kent regaled him with an embarrassing story of him and his old teammate, Jeff Troy, at a state fair. Bitty gasped as Kent concluded the story by miming a bin of stuffed animals falling on top of them.

“Oh my!” Bitty exclaimed. “Thank goodness y’all were alright.”

Kent looked down at Bitty’s arm, opened his mouth to say something else, closed it again. Bitty was suddenly very aware of the places their bodies were touching.

Feeling brave, he traced his finger down Kent’s arm to his wrist, following a vein just below the skin. Kent inhaled. He watched Kent’s lips, parted slightly with his breath. Bitty wanted to kiss him so badly. He felt invincible from the alcohol and Kent’s attention.

Before he could lose his nerve, he leaned forward and pressed his mouth to Kent’s.

The kiss was gentle and lasted only a few seconds. Kent moved his lips against Bitty’s, hesitantly, chastely. To an outsider it probably looked innocent enough, and before Bitty could lose himself in the moment, Kent pulled away.

“Not here,” he breathed.

Bitty leaned back. Oh lord, how had he forgotten? Kent was famous in this city and he wasn’t out. There could be cameras anywhere. Kent could be outed on Deadspin tomorrow and it would be so awful for his career. Bitty pressed his hands to his face. Goodness, he’d been so selfish.

Kent looked at Bitty with concern. Bitty could feel the flush of embarrassment rising in his cheeks.

“It’s okay,” Kent whispered, “I…I want to, just…later?” He cocked his head to one side and asked in a normal volume, “How about we get some food?”

Bitty nodded, still feeling horrified. Things had been going so well, and he totally messed it up with his stupid recklessness.

They closed their tab and walked outside into the warm September night.

 

_/_/_/ \\_\\_\\_

 

“So, uh, is pizza okay? I had a place picked out, but we could find somewhere else if pizza after Mai Tais is a no-go.”

Kent looked at Eric hopefully, wishing he could turn the dial back ten minutes and put the wide, happy grin back on Eric’s face.

“Pizza’s fine.”

Kent tried a new conversation topic. “Got any plans after your internship ends? It must be soon, right?”

Eric nodded. “I think they might give me an offer in a different department, outside the Pet division. I’ve had a couple interviews.” Kent nodded as Eric got into the rhythm of the conversation and started to sound more like himself. “Of course, I want to move to the magazine – _Home Cooking_ , they sell it in supermarket checkouts?” Eric glanced over and Kent made a noise like he’d heard of it, “but it’s so darn competitive. I don’t know where I’ll end up.”

Kent half-smiled. He was happy for Eric, even if it blew that he wouldn’t work with Kent and Kit anymore. He’d known from the beginning that Eric’s internship was temporary. He wondered if it would be appropriate to send a letter of recommendation to someone about the food magazine. He’d seen firsthand how good Eric was at his job. The company would be crazy to let him get away. He filed the thought away for later.

“Will you stay in New York?”

Eric nodded and looked around him in a way that made Kent imagine he was assessing the worthiness of all New York City.

“Yeah, the city’s growin’ on me. The company’s based here. And I’ve made some friends,” he turned and met Kent’s eyes, “I’d feel like I missed out if I left now.”

 

They lingered over pizza at the little restaurant Kent picked out. Eric perked up after a slice of margherita pizza and a coke. He asked Kent all about this year’s team and how Kent felt about their chances in the preseason.

Kent couldn’t stop looking at Eric’s eyes. They looked fucking beautiful, warm honey brown ringed with dark lashes, and it was all Kent could do to keep his hands to himself. He wished they were somewhere private so he could kiss him again. He wanted to feel Eric’s fingertips on his arm again, to lean into his kiss instead of having to pull away. Would Eric be down for it if Kent asked him to come back to his place? What if he was hella offended? He was Southern, did that make a difference? He should have googled this shit beforehand.

Kent waited until they were back on the sidewalk, strolling away from the restaurant with no particular destination, to ask the question.

“Uh, so, I only live a few blocks from here. It’s a nice night…do you, um, maybe want to walk back to my place and leave the car? I can hire you a ride back to Brooklyn whenever you want.”

He could see Eric blush in the yellow light of the streetlamp. It hadn't been his smoothest line, and he hoped he’d read the situation right.

“I wouldn’t be a bother? Don’t you have early practice?”

“You could never be a bother.”

Kent cringed. Welcome to Cheesy McCheesetown, population him.

Eric smiled tenderly, apparently not noticing Kent’s total lack of cool.

“Well, then. I’d love that.”

Kent grinned. His chest felt lighter than it had in months. Eric liked him. Eric wanted to spend time with him and kiss him and come back to his place and hopefully do other things with him. He felt like he’d won the fucking lottery.

They started walking. Kent looked quickly behind them to see that the street was deserted, then reached out and traced his index finger down the outside of Eric's hand. Eric moved his hand closer and pressed their fingertips together. Kent's face felt warm. He felt like a giddy teenager walking home after the homecoming dance, not that he'd ever had a homecoming. He briefly squeezed their fingers together.

 

When they reached his building, Eric casually put his hands in his pockets as he followed him inside. He stood off to the side, typing on his phone, as Kent asked the concierge to retrieve his car from SoHo; and Kent remembered that Eric had done this before.

Eric knew how to date a famous athlete in the closet. This wasn’t his first time looking unobtrusive in the lobby of a condo building. It was a very specific skill set, and Kent wanted to fight every homophobe who'd made it so Eric needed to learn those skills in the first place. He deserved so much better. Although he had to admit, not many people knew how exhausting it was for guys like Kent and Jack to keep up the bro-ey pretense of heterosexuality, and it felt really fucking good that Eric understood.

 

Kent nearly vibrated out of his skin as they rode the elevator up to Kent’s apartment. He kept his hands shoved in his jeans pockets, trying not to look nervous.

As soon as the apartment door closed, he turned to Eric and gingerly took his face in both hands. Eric stared up at him, eyes dark.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked.

Eric grinned without answering, then leaned forward and pressed his lips against Kent’s. Kent tried not to moan at finally getting the contact he’d wanted all night. He brushed his tongue inside Eric’s mouth, relishing the hot wetness. He ran his fingers up through Eric’s hair and smelled his coconut shampoo.

Kent hummed in encouragement as Eric wound his hands around Kent’s back and down over his ass. He squeezed playfully, smiling against Kent’s lips, then pulled away just enough that Kent stopped and looked at him questioningly. When Eric seemed satisfied that he had Kent’s attention, he pushed Kent backward with more strength than Kent would have expected, pressing him against the wall of the entryway and bracing him in place with a hand on each of his hips.

“This okay, hon?” Eric asked through his lashes.

Jesus fucking Christ. “More than okay.”

Eric kissed him again, deep and filthy. A shiver ran down the whole length of Kent’s body, and he instantly felt himself go from mildly aroused to hard as a fucking rock.

A small chirp sounded from behind them. Kent groaned.

He turned his face away from Eric’s lips and grumbled, “Go away, Kit. I’ll feed you later.”

Another chirp. This time Kit came right up to them and butted her head against Kent’s shinbone, annoyed. Kent wondered if locking her in the guest bath would be considered animal cruelty. He sighed and relented.

“Sorry, Eric, I forgot. I usually feed her right when I get home.”

Eric gave him an amused little smirk. “You’d better get on that, Mister Parson. She looks mighty displeased.”

“I’ll be back in two minutes.” He leaned forward and kissed the smirk off Eric’s face with quick, silly, closed-mouth kisses. Eric laughed and squirmed away.

Kent ran to the kitchen and proceeded to set a land speed record for preparing cat food. When he finished, he found Eric in the living room with all the lights turned off, watching the city from the wall-to-wall windows. The night skyline of Manhattan lit up his face in a warm yellow glow. Kent stood behind him and circled his arms around his waist, resting his chin on Eric’s shoulder.

“Amazing, isn’t it?”

Eric half-laughed, half-sighed. “If you’d told sixteen-year-old me that in a handful of years I would be living in New York City, making it on my own, enjoying dinner and drinks and _this_ ,” he gestured pointedly between Kent and himself, “with a hot NHL star...I would’ve said you were downright crazy.”

Kent smiled and trailed little kisses down the back of Eric’s neck, feeling pleased with himself when he felt Eric shiver. “C’mon,” he whispered into Eric’s ear.

“Hmm?”

Kent slid his hands over Eric’s torso, brushing the exposed skin at the waistband of his khakis. “Come with me. I know a few things we could do that would make sixteen-year-old Eric blush.”

Eric snorted. “Oh my god, Kent, that line was _awful_.”

Kent grinned. “Did it work?”

Eric just laughed, full and throaty, and pulled Kent in the direction of the bedroom.

 

 

“Uuuugggghhhh.”

Kent groped around on the bedside table for his phone. Why the fuck was his alarm going off? It was so goddamn early. How was anyone awake at this ungodly hour?

He turned off the offending alarm and reached out for Eric, but the bed next to him was empty.

Kent was immediately awake. He sat up.

When had Eric left? Oh god, had he done something to offend him? He tried to recall what would have upset Eric enough for him to leave, but nothing stood out. The last thing he remembered from the night before was both of them crawling under the sheets, post-orgasm, and Eric laying his hand on Kent's chest as they passed out.

He scrubbed his hands over his face and looked around. A little yellow sticky note sat next to his phone.

 

_Kent,_

_I had so much fun last night._

_I left early, needed a shower & clothes before work._

_Kick ass in your game._

_ <3 EB_

_  
_

_/_/_/ \\_\\_\\_

 

Bitty scrambled for his phone when it buzzed, praying it would be Kent. He’d had two false alarms already this morning – a good-morning note from his mama and a string of eggplant emojis from Shitty.

 

Kent: my pillow smells like you

Bitty: [blushing emoji] you got my note?

Kent: i did

Bitty: Sorry I had to run, I forgot we had a team meeting at 8 and I kinda needed a shower

Kent: heh yeah

Kent: i mean, if you’d let me swallow like i was planning to

Bitty: Oh lordy

Kent: but nooo, u wanted it on my abs

Bitty: Kent Parson

Kent: and then it got everywhere

Bitty: We are not having this conversation while I’m sittin’ in a SHARED cubicle

Kent: [smiling devil emoji] [winking kiss emoji]

 

Bitty swiveled his chair so he faced away from his cubicle-mate. He hunched over the screen and reread Kent’s texts, beaming like an idiot.

 

Bitty: Will I see you before your roadie?

Kent: probably not

Kent: we have practice & team photos today, game tmrw, then hit the road right after

Bitty: :( :( :(

Kent: I’d love to meet up next weekend after i’m back

Bitty: I’d like that :D

Bitty: Btw you earned serious baked goods last night

Kent: i live to please [cherub emoji]

Kent: and my favorite flavor is blueberry

 

Blueberry. Hmm. Bitty had all sorts of blueberry recipes he could bake for Kent. If he stopped by Whole Foods on his way home from work, he could whip up a batch of blueberry mini crumbles easy-peasy. Or maybe the blueberry brie tartlets the boys had been so fond of at the Haus? He opened his browser to research recipes.

It was a bummer that Kent couldn’t hang out until next week. Bitty had no plans tonight and baking would take his mind off the excitement of the last couple days.

That’s alright, he could wait until next week.

He could wait.

If he stopped on his way home and picked up some blueberries, surely that was alright.

If he washed the blueberries and set the butter out to room temperature, that was just smart preparation.

Well, as long as everything was out, he might as well make a little somethin'.

Two batches of mini crumbles, two batches of tartlets, and one batch of sweet potato cat treats later, Bitty finally felt calm enough to crawl into bed. He knew Kent would be busy tomorrow, but he could drop by quickly and give Kent the baked goods and a good-luck kiss. He wouldn’t even have to go inside. It would be sweet and perfect.

 

The next morning, Bitty tied two bakery boxes with twine and a little note; presentation was important. Kent had said their practice was over at 10, so at 10:30 he skipped up the front steps of Kent’s building and set down his boxes in the lobby.

 

Bitty: Hi hon, are you home?

Kent: hi what’s up?

Bitty: I have a surprise for you [winking kissy face]

Kent: ??

Bitty: Let me up and I can show you [winking emoji]

Kent: how about I come downstairs to u?

Bitty: Oh don’t you worry, this won’t take but a minute

Bitty: I don’t mind makin’ the trip

Kent: that’s ok you don’t have to

Kent: i can come down

Kent: i don’t mind

Kent: eric?

 

Bitty hopped into the elevator with a woman holding a Pomeranian, pushing the button for Kent’s floor after she’d swiped her keycard. He smiled in what he hoped looked like a friendly-not-intruder way. Kent was so silly. He didn’t mind coming up at all. No reason Kent should have to interrupt his routine for Bitty.

Bitty knocked on Kent’s door and Kent opened it right away, like he’d been waiting for him. He had on basketball shorts and a Rangers t-shirt. His hair was sweaty. He didn’t invite Bitty in.

“Hey Eric, I didn’t expect you today.”

“Oh honey, I was just in the area and thought I’d drop off a little somethin’ for the boys on your roadie.”

Bitty handed Kent the packages and Kent smiled as he sniffed appreciatively. He turned briefly to listen to something in the other room, and his smile faded. He turned back to Bitty.

“That’s really cool, man. Thanks.”

Bitty started to wish him good luck, but he stopped when he thought he heard…was that footsteps?

Kent jumped in, “Sorry I couldn’t hang out today, I just–”

“Parse, where are the bowls?”

A tall, dark-haired man in running shorts and yellow sneakers walked into the entryway holding a box of cereal. He froze when he saw Bitty.

Bitty’s heart stopped. “Jack?”

“Bittle.”

Bitty backed away, clutching his phone to his chest. What was happening? He couldn’t breathe. Why was Jack here? From somewhere far away, he heard Kent saying his name.

He turned and ran.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, that was the longest chapter yet! I also updated the chapter count to 5 chapters. I mapped it out and these boys are going to need two chapters to work out the mess they've made!
> 
>  _Tune in next week for:_ Why is Jack in Kent's apartment? Will Bitty and Kent make up? Will there be drama??? (hint: yes)
> 
> Until then, come say hi in the comments! <3


	4. Pickin' It Up

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was originally planning to post this tomorrow, but I was too excited to wait!

_Oh god. Oh god._

Bitty gulped big breaths of air as he walked-jogged toward the subway. What on earth just happened? Why was Jack in Kent’s apartment? Jack wasn’t supposed to be in Kent’s apartment. Jack was supposed to be in Providence, back in the old life he and Bitty had decided they couldn’t live together. He had no business in New York City, trampling the fragile shoots of Bitty's new life.

His phone buzzed insistently in his pocket. Bitty flipped it to Do Not Disturb and shoved it in his bag.

Did this mean Jack was moving on? Bitty’d moved out less than six months ago. Surely that wasn’t long enough for – and besides, that didn’t make any sense. It was _Kent_. There was no way.

Bitty’s feet steered reflexively toward Columbus Circle while his brain spun in circles. They’d looked so comfortable, intimate even. Jack was shirtless, his hair sticking up every which way, and Kent was practically dripping with sweat. Maybe they’d been working out. But didn’t Kent have practice at the rink until ten? Oh god, had Kent lied and been with Jack?

Bitty trained his eyes on the sidewalk, scrunching his face to prevent the tears that were forming from spilling over onto his cheeks. He bumped into a pedestrian coming up the subway stairs and mumbled an apology.

What if they’d gotten back together? Bitty’s throat tightened up. The last time Jack and Bitty had talked about Parse – _Kent_ , his mind corrected sharply – was years ago, and Jack said they just hooked up a few times. Bitty kicked himself. His mama always said he was too gullible.

The subway signs blurred in front of him. He blinked furiously.

Bitty could see now why Jack had fallen for Kent back in Juniors. Kent was exactly Jack’s type. He was blonde and lean (Bitty wasn't a fool, he knew what that boy liked); and Kent oozed confidence and ease, qualities Jack was drawn to like a light-blinded moth.

But what about Kent? Had Bitty been completely off-base in thinking maybe _he_ was Kent’s type? Jack was so different – older, mature, built like a model – maybe Kent wanted to date a real adult whose experiences were like his own. And if Bitty was right and their history was deeper than Jack let on? Ugh, Bitty hadn’t stood a chance.

He sidestepped a group of tourists and boarded the train, curling himself into as small a ball as possible in the plastic seat. He checked his phone and saw 23 unread messages. He ran his fingers over the screen, debating whether to read them. Tears finally leaked out the corners of his eyes and slid down his cheeks. He pushed the phone into his bag and watched the lights in the subway tunnel whoosh past.

 

_/_/_/ \\_\\_\\_

 

Kent chucked his phone at the couch, feeling peevishly satisfied at the _whmmp_ it made as it hit the cushion.

Eric wasn’t replying – of course he wasn’t.

Kent was a grade A idiot. He should have told Eric right away about Jack. He shouldn’t have tried to see them both in the same weekend. It was tempting fate, like…like…shit, he couldn’t even come up with a movie reference. Something from a B-horror flick, maybe.

Jack had left not long after Eric stopped by. Kent felt terrible. He’d fucked up communication on both sides and blindsided Zimms too. He’d given Jack the thirty-second version of the story and Jack tried to shake it off and keep making conversation like the team captain and decent dude he was. Kent’s brain only processed every third word he was saying, though. All he could think about was Eric.

When Jack left, he’d said, “Don’t wait too long to talk to Bitty – euh, Eric. He can push people away sometimes and let problems build up in his head. Trust me, okay?”

Kent had just nodded. His love life was surreal as shit.

 

Kent sighed and retrieved his phone from the couch. No messages.

He packed his away bag, shoving in base layers and underwear. It had been months since their last roadie and he was rusty at packing. Normally during the season, he could pack with his eyes closed. He never fully unpacked anyway, just emptied the dirty clothes and tossed the travel bag on a chair in the corner.

He stopped and forced himself to check off items in his head, or with his luck he’d get to LA without a toothbrush.

He glanced at his phone. Still no messages.

After everything was ready to go, he laid on the floor and waited for the car to take him to the airport. Kit walked around his head and sniffed his nose. She rubbed her body against his shoulder and arm – probably asking for food, but it felt comforting anyway. He squeezed his eyes shut and sent her telepathic messages that she was the world’s best cat.

His phone buzzed. He jerked for it, scaring Kit.

The car was downstairs.

Kent texted Eric again from the car, asking if he was okay. He’d looked super upset when he left, tearing down the hallway in a panic. Kent asked him to let him know he'd made it home safely. 

When his phone stayed painfully silent, he pushed it back into his pocket. His mouth tasted sour. 

He checked one last time before takeoff, telling Eric their flight was leaving. Wishing him a good week. In his gut, he could feel tendrils of bitterness creeping in at Eric’s silence. He set his phone to airplane mode and let himself stew in his hurt.

 

_/_/_/ \\_\\_\\_

 

Bitty stretched onto his tiptoes, easing the bag of whole wheat flour forward from the back of the cupboard.

“He should get the results soon, right? How’s he doin’ with the waiting?”

On the laptop screen, Lardo laughed. “Remember his old Christmas tree toker shirt? He’s decided it’s lucky and he’s been wearing it for two weeks straight. Duuude, it’s rank.”

“Goodness gracious, that boy. The bar exam’s a big deal, but he’s smart and he studied like crazy. I’m sure he’ll pass.”

“Totes,” she smiled fondly.

Bitty watched Lardo twist the cap closed on a bottle of nail polish and wave her splayed-out hand to dry. He leaned over from where he was measuring dry ingredients into a bowl.

“Ooh, lemme see. How’s it look?”

She moved her hand so her blurry fingers filled the screen. Silver and gold stars covered a black lacquer base. She’d added nebulas to her middle fingers. Bitty oohed. He loved seeing her nail polish experiments; she was so stinkin' talented.

They hung out in silence for a while, each working on their own projects. Lardo eyed the screen off and on like she was debating something.

“How’ve you been, Bits?”

Bitty huffed a laugh. “Busy as ever. I found a new coffee shop this week. They make a vanilla bean horchata latte that I swear is to die for.”

“Mm. Anything new with Kent?”

“Not really. I don’t think I’m looking for a relationship right now, and he’s in California anyway. Preseason ‘n’ all.”

Lardo stared. Bitty didn’t notice, his back to the screen as he washed berries.

“Shitty talked to Jack.”

Bitty froze.

“Oh.”

“Yeah, ‘oh’.”

He turned to face Lardo and sighed. “Do we really have to talk about this now, hon?”

“You know we do.”

“Lardo, I just –” He paused and restarted. “I just don’t understand why he wouldn’t tell me about somethin’ like that. He lied to me. If him and Jack are seein’ each other again…”

“I don’t think it’s like that, Bits. Jack says they’re just friends.”

Bitty sighed. “Even if that’s it, he still should’ve told me.”

“I know, bro. It sucks.”

“Does it ever.”

Lardo smiled like she’d just had an idea.

“How about we have a Skype-a-thon soon? I can invite Shitty, and we can see if Rans and Holster are free.”

They’d invented Skype-a-thons when Bitty lived in Providence and the other SMH grads lived in Boston. When Jack was on a roadie and Bitty felt lonely, Lardo, Shitty, Ransom, and Holster would all get together and Skype him, and they’d hang out like they were back at the Haus. Bitty'd organize a shared menu over group chat so it felt like they were really eating together (he smiled remembering the cherry mini-pies he mailed them once, as a surprise). They’d watch TV, cheer together for Jack’s games, or take turns DJing a shared playlist while they talked.

Bitty hadn’t even realized he was lonely, but his heart suddenly felt full-to-bursting with anticipation at getting to (virtually) see his old team. He was slowly making friends in New York, but he wasn’t nearly as close with anyone here as he was with his Hausmates.

They set a date and time, and Lardo waved as she signed off. Bitty felt the tangled knot in his chest loosen a smidge. He didn’t need to think about Kent, didn’t need to miss Kent.

He would be okay.

 

_/_/_/ \\_\\_\\_

 

“What did I say? Protect. The. Fucking. Puck!”

Kent watched as two players pushed each other into the boards. They lost their focus and the puck careened wide. Kent rolled his eyes in disgust.

“Again!”

He settled back on his heels and observed as pair after pair repeated the drill.

The team was playing like shit and couldn’t pull out of it. After an embarrassing loss against the Kings, he’d sat down with the coaches and mapped out a practice schedule to re-ground them, get them out of their heads. Their second game, against the Sharks, was tonight. Kent would bet his right arm it was gonna be a shitshow.

“Alright guys, bring it in.”

He threw a whistle at one of the rookies.

“Panda, you’re leading whistle sprints. If you go easy on these assholes, I’ll switch leaders and you’ll be sprinting laps till you puke. Got it?”

The rookie nodded. He looked terrified.

“Good.”

 

Kent stayed on the ice after the guys hit the showers. They had the rink for another hour, and he wanted to practice breakaways after a flub in the Kings game had cost him what should have been an easy goal. He was bent double, panting, when he noticed movement behind him.

His alternate captain, Boomer, skated to a stop.

“Parse.”

“Hey,” Kent rasped.

“You got something you want to talk about?”

His tone made Kent’s blood curdle.

“No. Why?”

Boomer shrugged.

“You got a problem with the way I run my practice?”

“No sir, but you’re riding these guys like it’s the fuckin’ playoffs and it’s not even October. You’re scaring the rookies.”

“If they could get their shit together, I wouldn’t have to be a hardass.”

“All due respect, captain, I don’t think they’re the ones who need to get their shit together.”

Kent narrowed his eyes.

Boomer held his ground. “Just seems like something’s bothering you. Normally I’d say it isn’t my business, but when you start bringing it onto the ice, it becomes my business. So, spill.”

Kent swore under his breath. He respected the hell out of his alternates, even when they pissed him off. He especially respected them when they risked his wrath to call him out on his shit.

“I’m sorry, Booms. It’s just personal stuff. I’ll try to keep it outta the game tonight.”

Boomer nodded understandingly. He grabbed a pail and started collecting the scattered pucks. Kent joined in, chipping pucks in his direction. He felt his body relax in the cold silence.

 

As they headed to the locker room, Boomer clapped Kent on the back. “So what’s bothering you, Parse? It’s been a long time since I thought you might murder a teammate.”

Kent snorted. “Remember at the barbecue for the new guys last week, when I said I’d met someone?”

“Yeah, man,” Boomer replied, “the blonde? Gets along with Kit?”

Kent nodded. “Apparently they’ve decided they want nothing to do with me.”

“Shit, sorry. What’d they do?”

Kent shrugged. He appreciated Boomer’s loyalty in thinking Eric was the one who fucked up.

He also appreciated Boomer for playing the pronoun game like it was no big deal. Kent wasn’t officially out to the team, but his linemates and some of the older guys, Boomer included, knew he was gay. They’d seen him at his lowest point, fresh after his trade from the Aces, and they’d watched him grow into a mostly-functional adult. Over the years they’d made it clear they didn't care who he dated, as long as he was happy. The thought eased the ache in his chest.

He looked up from where he’d started removing his skates. “I messed things up. It was…ugh, it was my own fucking fault. I just need to move on.”

Boomer shoved his shoulder.

“I’m sorry to hear it, cap. I hope they come around. You’re quite the catch when you’re not being a total crusty dicksock.”

Kent laughed, loud and hard, for the first time in days. God, he loved these assholes. He didn’t need to obsess over Eric. He had his team and he had hockey, and that could be enough.

 

_/_/_/ \\_\\_\\_

 

Bitty arranged serving bowls on top his bedroom dresser. He shifted the hummus aside to make room for the bagel bites.

The Skype-a-thon with his Hausmates was starting in – he twisted around to check his laptop – eight minutes. He’d prepped the munchies and drinks. Tonight’s menu consisted of a veggie tray (chosen by Ransom), various frozen appetizers (Shitty), quesadillas (Lardo, although he’d cheated and cooked them on a griddle rather than microwave them like a _heathen_ ), snickerdoodles (his own recipe) and a craft beer he’d never tried (Holster).

He’d set up his computer like a mini TV, and he had Skype open on his phone. He felt a little blue, waiting alone in his bedroom for Lardo’s call. As nice as this was, it didn’t hold a candle to the real thing. His friends knew he’d been feeling lonely, though, and he loved them for wanting to help.

Five more minutes. Maybe Lardo would call a little early, she did that sometimes.

Bitty heard the front door buzzer from the hallway. He ignored it. It was probably one of his roommates’ friends.

Four minutes.

The intercom buzzed again. Someone was insistent.

Three minutes.

The dang buzzer wouldn’t be quiet. Bitty marched out to the hall and pressed the intercom.

“Hello?” he asked.

“BRAH!”

Bitty gasped and punched the button. Before he knew it, three figures came crashing through the front door. Holster whirled him off his feet in the tightest bear hug of his life. Bitty was laughing and crying and breathless. Holster set him down and Shitty and Lardo pounced on him for a combined hug. He leaned into their weight as Holster ruffled his hair.

Oh goodness, he must look a fright. He stepped back and wiped at the tears streaming down his chin and neck, laughing wetly.

“What in heaven’s name are y’all doin’ here?”

Shitty put one arm around him and squeezed his shoulder. “We couldn’t leave our favorite ray-of-fucking-sunshine in his moment of need. No Hausmate left behind, my tiny bro.”

“But!” He pointed accusingly at Holster. “Don’t you have work? And Shitty, what about volunteering at the DA? How did y’all–”

Lardo laughed. “Relax, Bits, it’s a quick trip. We’re going back in the morning. We missed you. Ransom had a presentation tomorrow or he’d be here too.”

Bitty covered his face with his hands. The affection he felt for these ridiculous people…he couldn’t put it into words.

Holster picked up the bags they’d thrown on the floor. “We brought supplies. Give us the grand tour so we can get this mother-fucking party started.”

 

It wasn’t long before they’d demolished the food. Bitty whipped up another batch of cookies and Shitty ran out for beers (“My bruh! It’s like a brave new libations _world_ out there!” “Shitty, it’s a liquor store.”). They squeezed together on Bitty’s bed and watched reruns of Animal Planet. Somewhere between the cheetah eating its young and the elephant battling a hippo, Holster fell asleep with his head on Bitty’s legs, and Lardo and Shitty climbed onto the fire escape to share a joint. Bitty basked in the warmth and familiarity.

Shitty and Lardo ducked back through the window and stretched out on the bed. Bitty snuggled his head on Lardo’s shoulder, careful not to jostle Holster. Lardo crooked her head to look at him.

“So how are things with Kent?”

“Hmm?” Bitty replied sleepily.

Shitty chimed in. “Blonde hockey god, devastatingly handsome? Lards said you were pretty broken up about it.”

“Oh,” Bitty replied, “I haven’t talked to him.”

“What, like, at all?”

“Nope,” he answered, popping the ‘p’ with forced nonchalance. “I’m not interested in someone who lies to me.”

Lardo looked at Shitty. Shitty frowned.

“Ya know, Bits, Kent might have a hard time being totally ghosted. That’s gotta be rough on the guy.”

Bitty hmphed. “If he can’t treat me with respect, I don’t owe him anything.”

“Did you at least read his messages?”

“Why would I?”

Shitty blew out a noisy breath.

“Look, brah, I don’t pretend to know the whole situation. I’m sure your righteous anger is, like, two hundred percent justified. But dude’s got some seriously fucked-up experience with relationships ending suddenly.” Shitty raised his eyebrows meaningfully, “Don’t you think it might be a good move to tell him where shit stands?”

“Fucked-up experience…you mean, like, with Jack?”

“Yessiree, I mean _with Jack_.”

They fell silent. Bitty turned over Shitty’s point in his head. He’d never heard the details of Kent and Jack’s breakup, but Shitty (who, as Jack’s self-described ‘fraternal life partner’, would know these things) made it sound sudden and painful. It made sense given the overdose and the draft. Which meant Kent hadn’t gotten any closure. No wonder he’d been so torn up for so long. If that was true…Bitty was a moron. Ignoring Kent’s texts and voicemails probably made him feel like he was reliving the past. Kent’s lies had hurt Bitty, but Bitty’s silence hurt Kent right back.

He sighed. Lord, he hated being in the wrong.

Lardo handed him his phone knowingly.

“Guess it’s time to see how much damage I’ve done.”

He scrolled through Kent’s messages and stopped below the latest one. His fingers hovered over the keyboard. He typed. Deleted. Typed. He punched ‘send’ before he could chicken out.

 

Bitty:  hey

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Stay tuned next week for the thrilling conclusion!_ (Lol or maybe just fluffy conclusion, let’s be honest.)
> 
>  
> 
> Until then, let me know what you think. I have love-love-LOVED your comments and kudos, thank you for being the warm and welcoming fan community you are. <3


	5. Your Love's Got The Best Of Me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaand we’ve made it to the end, friends. We’re wrapping it up with a Beyoncé title because Bitty insisted.  
> Here’s one last shoutout for the playlist I jammed to while I wrote this:  
> [Fierce BittyParse Pop](https://open.spotify.com/user/mbirnie1/playlist/11eWDpyXO3P2T6ElIfjSV5?si=bCbRZumiT4usWb7de0jC4w)
> 
> I love you all! Have some unrepentant fluff!

Kent frowned at his hands, and Bitty tried to keep his leg from bouncing like the needle on his mama’s old Singer sewing machine.

They’d been sitting like this for a while, side by side on a bench in Prospect Park. Kent kept making aborted little movements like he wanted to say something. Bitty held his expression carefully neutral, delicate nose upturned.

It was taking the boy forever, good gracious.

Bitty refused to give in and speak first. He was determined for Kent to lead this conversation. He’d initiated today’s meetup, after all, and it was only fair for Kent to meet him halfway. Bitty’d chatted politely as they walked from the subway to the park, but they’d drifted into silence and now it was Kent’s turn.

While he waited, Bitty watched the families spread out on the grass below them. He watched parents dole out juice boxes to toddlers on blankets. He smiled at a young couple entwined in the grass, napping. His favorites were the two elderly ladies passing sections of the newspaper back and forth with what looked like decades of familiarity. Could that be him and a partner, someday? He tried to imagine feeling the warmth of their casual intimacy.

Kent screwed up his face and Bitty turned to focus on him. He wasn’t sure if Kent’s expression was displeasure or regret or something else; honestly, he looked a little constipated.

“I’m sorry,” Kent said finally. He looked back down at his hands and didn’t say anything else.

Bitty’s eyes bored into him like lasers. Was that it? Seriously? The guy had three days since Bitty’s text to plan his apology, and all he’d come up with was ‘I’m sorry’?

Bitty laughed, but it came out like bitter greens. It wasn’t funny and he was probably hurting Kent’s feelings, but he couldn’t help his frustration at Kent’s utter hopelessness at communication.

“You’re sorry? Kent, honey, I get that this is hard, and I have some apologizin' of my own to do, but…lordy. If we’re really gonna work through this, I need you to do better than just ‘I’m sorry.’”

Kent grimaced. He pushed up the sleeves of his hoodie and twisted his body sideways so one knee rested on the bench, solid against Bitty’s thigh. When their eyes locked, Bitty saw the first definitive emotion in Kent’s eyes that he’d seen all afternoon – determination. The intensity knocked him off-guard. Suddenly he didn't look like some dithering boy. He looked every inch like Kent Parson, two-time Stanley Cup-winning captain of the New York Rangers, who faced off every night against the best players in the NHL. He leaned forward into Bitty’s space.

“Eric, look – I’m sorry. I really am. I know I’m not all eloquent and shit, and that sorry isn’t good enough, but I’m trying.

“So here goes – I fucked this up. I should have talked to you and Zimms earlier about everything. It wasn’t fair that I didn’t tell you I’m friends with Zimms again. And I’m pretty sure he’s pissed at me, too, in his bullshit ‘I’m-not-mad-I’m-disappointed’ way.

“I want to try this again. I mean, if you’ll let me. You’re an awesome person and I don’t know what minor god I metaphorically sucked off to deserve you showing up in my life, but I’m not letting you go now. I won’t fuck this up again. I swear.”

Bitty held his breath, not wanting to break whatever spell this was, but Kent seemed to be done. His scowl melted into uncertainty, and Bitty thought this looked more like the Kent he’d come to know. Or maybe they were both Kent, the conviction and insecurity in an unsteady equilibrium.

“Was that better?” Kent asked. “Boomer said I should say everything I was thinking even if it sounded stupid, and I think that’s all of it. Oh, and I ate, like, all of those little blueberry-cheese things. I totally vomited blue but they were delicious, so thank you for making them for me even though I’m an asshole.”

This time Bitty’s laugh was warm, golden honey.

 

They finished their apologies – Bitty wasn’t much more articulate than Kent, in the end – and agreed to some communication ground rules. They were techniques Bitty’d learned from Jack’s therapist in Providence, but Kent didn’t need to know that little detail and, besides, good advice was good advice no matter where it came from.

When the conversation lapsed again, the silence this time felt easy. They sat quietly on the shaded bench while Brooklyn bustled around them. Bitty noticed the ladies had moved on to a crossword puzzle, heads bent together over the same folded square of newsprint. Kent rested one hand on the bench, palm up, and Bitty traced his index finger up and down the blue veins of Kent’s wrist. He couldn’t help but feel a little smug when Kent closed his eyes, relaxing and enjoying the touch.

“I guess if we’re communicating,” Bitty said quietly, “we should probably talk about where we go from here.”

Kent opened his eyes slowly.

“I’ll be traveling a lot during the season, but I’d like to try…y’know…dating. If you want.”

Bitty wanted that more than anything.

“I’d want to be exclusive, no dating other people.”

“Yeah, absolutely. Is it okay that we can’t be out? We can tell our friends. And this kind of stuff,” Kent gestured at the park around them, “this is fine. But we’d have to be careful.”

Bitty thought about it. “It ain’t that different from me and Jack, sorry if that’s weird to say. I knew when we started this that you weren’t out, and I don’t want you doin’ something you’ll regret on account of me. If things go well, can we talk about it again later?”

Kent nodded. “Sure thing. What about us working together?”

Bitty sighed at that. “My internship’s over soon and they haven’t renewed my contract, so I honestly don’t think it’s gonna be a problem.” He tried not to sound sulky. “I might not be a lot of fun while I’m job hunting, though.”

Kent just grabbed his fingers and squeezed. A cold bay breeze tugged at their clothes and Bitty scooted closer to Kent, trying to hold on to the warmth.

 

_/_/_/ \\_\\_\\_

 

Kent watched blearily as the ingredients in the blender _whrrred_ loudly into a chocolate-brown slurry. He’d gone for an early run before practice, and he’d stayed late after practice to run drills with a kid they’d called up from the farm team. He was practically asleep on his feet and dying to take a nap, but he had just enough sense to know he needed calories and protein first or he’d wake up shaky later.

He pushed ‘Pulse’ a few more times for good measure, then let the blender spin to a stop. He heard his phone buzzing insistently as soon as the motor stopped. He reached over to check the caller ID.

“Hey, Eric! What’re you doing calling during the day? Aren’t you supposed to be earning that paycheck?”

Eric was practically incoherent on the other end of the line; all Kent could hear was excited, breathless squealing.

He laughed. “Whoa, there. What’s up?”

Eric yelled through the speaker, “I GOT THE JOB!”

Kent laughed again. “That’s amazing! Now breathe before you pass out, rock star.”

Eric laughed breathlessly, and Kent could practically see him on the other end of the line, raising and lowering one arm exaggeratedly, guiding himself through a few deep breaths.

Kent balanced the phone between his shoulder and ear, poured his smoothie into a glass, grabbed a Gatorade from the fridge for good measure, and headed to the bedroom. He crawled into bed with his haul, shooing Kit off his pillow. He watched her resettle on her taco pillow while Eric dominated the conversation with details about the food magazine and his new role in the Marketing department. Kent added _‘uh huh’_ and _‘that’s awesome’_ in the right places in the conversation and felt his body relax into sleepiness.

Eric finally talked himself out, and Kent took the opportunity to ask, “So how do you want to celebrate?”

“Um, I thought maybe you could cook me dinner?”

Kent smirked. He understood the implication in Eric’s request – Eric was giving them the opportunity for a re-do. This would be their first real date since…since the incident, and dinner at Kent’s apartment would give them the privacy to talk and touch and learn more about each other.

After they’d hung up, he curled up with his protein smoothie and imagined this date and all the future dates he wanted to have with Eric. He was captivated by Eric’s passion and enthusiasm. All he wanted to do was find ways to make Eric happy like he’d been just now, and he wanted to bottle it up and keep it in his pocket and drink it to get him through shitty days.

Yeah, that sounded creepy, but he was tired, okay? So sue him.

 

_/_/_/ \\_\\_\\_

 

Bitty chewed his thumbnail and read the draft of his text message again. He should probably split it up; it took up more than two full phone screens. But then he’d have to send multiple messages, and he’d barely screwed up his courage enough to send just the one. He didn’t want to risk chickening out halfway through.

The oven timer interrupted his thoughts, and he hopped off the counter to pull a golden-topped cream cheese pound cake out of the oven. He set it on a cooling rack next to the pies. He pressed his fingertips to a butterscotch cookie on another cooling rack across the counter. Good, they’d cooled enough to transfer to individual baggies.

After all the baked goods were sorted – cookies in bags, pies and cakes in pink boxes, and handwritten nametags tied to everything with twine – Bitty picked up his phone again.

Why was he so worried, anyway? He was probably making a mountain out of a molehill. Lardo had texted back two thumbs-up emojis when he sent her the draft. He’d picked his timing so they’d be mid-game and there wasn’t any risk of having a real-time conversation. And besides, if he expected Kent to communicate his feelings, Bitty couldn’t rightly expect less of himself.

He quickly pressed ‘Send’ and set his phone on the counter, walking away in search of a box to carry his load of baked goods to the office for his last day at his internship, and his first day in his new career.

 

Bitty: Hi Jack, it’s been awhile hasn’t it? I know I asked for space back in May, and thank you for giving it to me. I just wanted to let you know I’m seeing somebody. Kent, actually, which you probably knew but I wanted you to hear it from me. I’m not asking for permission or anything because lord that’s just weird, but it didn’t seem right not to say anything. I know y’all are friends again and I think that’s wonderful. If you’re ready, maybe we could try talking sometime. I don’t wanna pressure you, but it might be nice to catch up. I’ve missed the guys…how’s Tater’s leg? I saw he played last week, that’s just great. Well this is officially the longest text I’ve ever sent so I’m gonna stop now. I hope you’re doing well, Jack. You deserve it.

 

The next morning, Bitty woke to a notification: _You have 3 unread messages_. He hadn’t even gotten out of bed yet, was still warm under the blankets, but his body instantly felt wide awake and jumpy. He untangled Señor Bun from the sheets and arranged him under his arm before unlocking the screen. It helped his pride just a little that Jack had obviously texted when he knew Bitty’d be asleep. Bitty wasn’t the only one struggling with adult-ing.

 

Jack: Hey Bitty. I got your message. Thank you for telling me about Kent. I knew from him, but I appreciated hearing it from you. And for what it’s worth, I think you’ll be good for each other.

Jack: I thought about what you said. I’m honestly not ready to talk just the two of us. I’m nervous that it will feel too close to how it used to be, for me. Maybe you could join Parse sometime when we skype? It might be easier to keep straight in my head that way. I know it’s not fair that I don’t have any problem talking to him, but I hope you can see how it’s different. Please know I’m trying.

Jack: I hope things are going well. The team misses you. I think Tater is still going through pie withdrawals, haha. Take care Bitty.

 

Bitty let out his breath in a whoosh. A joint Skype conversation wasn’t exactly what he’d imagined, but at least it was a start. Step one toward functional exes. He set his phone on the nightstand and snuggled lower so the quilt covered his whole head, and he hugged Bun tightly.

 

_/_/_/ \\_\\_\\_

 

Kent kicked off his Oxfords and stretched his legs over the empty seat, feet hanging in the aisle.

“Stop stinking up the bus, Parse!” Gator yelled from a couple rows back. Kent grinned and wiggled his toes in response.

He scrolled through the handful of unread text messages from the game, mostly congratulations on his point in the third period. He swiped open the text from Eric.

 

Eric: Nice assist!!! [fire emoji x3]

 

He smiled at his phone and typed a reply, hoping Eric would still be up.

 

Kent: well if u thought that was hot… [sly face emoji]

Eric: Oh yeah?

Eric: You think you’re hot stuff, mister?

Kent: i could show you incredible things [rooster emoji] [OK-hand emoji]

Eric: LOL. If you think you can seduce me with Taylor Swift lyrics, you have so much to learn [eye roll emoji]

Kent: no? how bout…driver roll up the partition please

Eric: Now you’re not playin’ fair -_-

Kent: we get to the hotel in 20. is it too late to call?

Eric: I can’t wait [kissy emoji]

 

“Hey lover boy! You ignoring us?”

Kent had no idea what conversation he’d missed. He locked his phone screen and raised one arm to flip off the guys around him, turning his hand back and forth so he didn’t miss anyone. He heard chuckles around the bus as the guys chirped him.

“Who ya texting, Parse?”

“What, we aren’t good company?”

One of the guys made loud, wet smoochy noises into his hands.

“Who’s the new girl?” yelled a rookie.

“Geez, way to be heteronormative,” Sandy, one of the older guys, called from the back, “Hey Parse, who’s the new whatever-pronoun-you-want-to-put-your-dick-in?”

Parse laughed so hard he snorted. “Fuck all you losers. I only have eyes for Kit.”

The conversation shifted to Sandy being a smart-ass, and Kent tuned it out and flipped back to his messages. Jack had sent him a quick congratulatory note, and he shot him a chirp in return.

 

Kent: how’s that zero game point streak feel?

Jack: About as good as the Rangers 1-2-1 record.

Kent: lmao fuck you

Jack: Sneaky wrister though.

Kent: thanks man

Jack: Don’t think we’ll let you get away with that in Providence next week.

Kent: don’t worry, I’ll take you and Mashkov for a beer after we wreck you

Jack: Haha. Deal.

 

Kent closed his messages. He’d respond to the others later, after he showered and relaxed. For now, he put in his headphones and opened a shared playlist from Eric.

Zimms had a point, Kent thought. The season wasn’t starting with the win record he’d hoped for, but for some reason he couldn’t bring himself to freak out. The season was just getting going. They’d had better starts than this, but they’d certainly had worse too, and with the switch-ups they’d made to the lines, it felt like the team was finally hitting its stride. All in all, things were looking pretty good.

 

_/_/_/ \\_\\_\\_

 

Kent ran for the door when he heard the latch turn, skidding on the polished hardwood.

Eric stepped inside, barely visible under his overcoat and red-striped scarf and toque, balancing his overnight bag, groceries, a cupcake container, and a bag of laundry. Kent wondered how on earth he’d made it through the subway.

“Here, lemme help with those.”

He grabbed the cupcakes and groceries and leaned in for a light kiss.

“Hi there, honey.”

Eric unbundled in the entryway, brushing snow off his hat and coat, while Kent took the food into the kitchen.

“Zimms is still on Skype,” Kent called from behind the refrigerator door, where he was depositing butter and eggs. “We were watching Bruins penalty kills. Want to say hi before I hang up?”

Eric came up behind Kent to kiss his cheek and give his ass a playful squeeze. “Sure, hon. He texted me earlier to say y’all’d be watching tape. I’ll go say hi real quick.”

Eric wandered into the living room, and Kent could hear him talking to Jack. He’d been worried about this part, about what would happen when his friendship with Zimms collided with Eric’s ex-relationship. It was easier than he’d expected. Sure, the first few conversations had been weird as balls, but they’d settled into a rhythm. Eric and Zimms were friendly, and they no longer needed Kent as a buffer. Eric had mailed him and Mashkov pies at Thanksgiving, and they all had plans to get together when their schedules overlapped after Christmas. It was better than he’d hoped for, and his chest felt hot and tight with too much air, but in a good way – he felt like his body could expand and float to fill the space with warmth.

After signing off with Jack and corralling dinner from their groceries, they settled in on the couch. Eric had his feet on the coffee table, and Kent curled against his side, head in his lap. Kit kneaded Kent’s hip with her claws for what felt like an hour, and finally made a little nest somewhere by his feet. Kent wasn’t sure what perfection should feel like, but he thought this probably came close.

“Remind me why they’re flyin’ y’all to Philly for this game?” Eric asked.

“Fuck if I know,” Kent replied, pressing his face into Eric’s stomach. His clothes smelled like cinnamon. “It’d be faster to drive but I think they were worried about the roads in this weather. I’ll be back before you know it.”

Eric ran his fingers through the front of Kent’s hair. “Don’t you worry about me and Kit. We’ll have a li’l sleepover. I reckon I’ve brought enough laundry and baking supplies to keep us warm and fed through a blizzard.”

Kent chuckled and scooched in closer so Eric could reach his whole head. Eric took the not-so-subtle hint, alternating between scratching lightly and gripping with his fist to pull lightly on Kent’s hair.

“Mm, tha’ feels good.”

Kent zoned out a little bit, letting himself drift in the sensation of Eric’s fingers in his hair. When Eric spoke again, he blinked to pull himself back into the moment.

“Remember the day we meet, at the photoshoot? Your hair was a disaster. I wanted to run my fingers through it so darn bad.”

Kent fake-gasped. “My hair is a _treasure_ , thank you very much. Just ask Twitter.”

Eric laughed and Kent went on. “I remember that day, though. Like when you coaxed Kit down from the bookshelf? I think that was the first time I really saw you.”

Eric didn’t say anything, just hummed thoughtfully and kept scratching. Kent closed his eyes again.

He felt Eric lean forward a few minutes later, and he opened his eyes to find Eric’s face just a few inches above his own, searching for something…some expression or answer, maybe, in Kent’s features. Kent lifted his head to catch Eric’s frown in a kiss. He felt Eric’s lips shift into a smile as Eric murmured, “How did I get so lucky?”

“I think,” Kent replied softly, “we both got lucky.”

 

 


End file.
